Bukowski

The days run away like wild horses over the hill
The violent instigate the thrills in our three-course meals
Tore apart, the cards set, no more hands to deal
Scared kids lift the ground just to vandal and steal
No time for books, we’ve got these plans to build
And these vans to peel off, mans to kill
Try to do the dance emancipated, jaded and ill
Fuck the managers, crammed and castrated the fields
It’s the life we living, tripping it hypoallergenic
We’re statistics, counting calories to calisthenics
Face paint, lipstick from when we had braces
Shrinks to save face with the wild it embraces
Getting hand jobs on Craig’s list
The faceless patients like mice who be racing the cages at night
I feel the moon hunt me down with a spike
But I’m always on the move like a lightning strike
My light’s too bright, my sky’s too high
My rhyme’s too tight
They finally get it that I got rhymes to rock two mics
You cruise already but what direction you headed?
I advise you stray from heads that’ll get you beheaded
It’s about time the community is giving me credit
I’ve been peddling rhymes since '97 plus ten
And probably go till heavens ends, chilling in my den
Drinking Red Bull to give me the wings and an edge
Are we eating now?
Are we eating now?
Bring me the winds of a hanger
Let me turn this beat off